Anya and I sat on the back seat of a “Mercedes” that very strongly recalled Hans’s jalopy. The one he used to move about Moscow in before he kicked the bucket. Speaking of Moscow.
– Listen, one question is tormenting me. Two years ago, did you see Mila?
– Who’s that?
– My one and only Moscow acquaintance.
– Ah… That woman… I did.
– Having done for Hans, I went off to meet her.
– I remember….
– And?…
– And what?
– The address I went to, was it yours?
– Mine.
– Why did you make Mila send me there?
– As a safeguard. I wasn’t sure you’d manage with Hans.
– And if I hadn’t managed with him, what then?
– Nothing! – Anya answered sharply. -Arranged an evening of reminiscences, what and why, and if only it weren’t so. Nothing! What was, was. You arrived, fell unconscious by the entrance. I came out, called an ambulance, sent you to hospital. For a thousand marks I persuaded the doctors not to report the gunshot wound to the police. Satisfied?
Ah, so that’s how it was…
Struck dumb, I fell silent.